Drunken Subconscious
by Conspire to Ignite
Summary: Spoilers for Sign of Three. What was really going through Sherlock's head when he and John were drunk?


**Yeah. So. Spoilers for hilarity.**

**I missed this little bit of subtext the first time. But now that I've got it, I'm not letting it go.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock. If I did, there would be lots of love for Sherly. He needs it.**

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><p>Everything was blurred. Swirling in and out of focus. I can't focus. Simply no focus to be had, if it ever existed. I feel looser than I have in ages. Since I had my last dose of cocaine years ago. And here I am with John, making a fool of myself and not caring. Who needs to care?<p>

"Do 'people' like me?" I ask my next question with a flourish. Gently, so I don't spill my drink. Can't spill that, that's too good. Really good, actually. Decidedly not beer. Oops.

"No they don't. You tend to rub 'em up the wrong way."

_I'd rub you up the right way, John._

Where did that come from? I've lost control of my subconscious. That's never good. Only a matter of time until it makes itself known aloud. Very dramatically and without a filter.

"Okay." I fall back before leaning forward with a thought. "Am I the current King of England?"

John laughs. Squeals, really. _Adorable_. What? No. I am right about this. I will win. _Have to show off for John._

"You know we don't have a king?"

"Don't we?"

"No."

Must have deleted it. Come to think of it, the last monarch I could remember was King... something. Sometime in the 1700s. Why did I even know that much? Should tuck it away. Far away. Delete it even. When would I ever need to know anything about British monarchs?

"Your go." I gesture lazily, falling back on my chair. Ah. Chair is nice. Ah. Alcohol is better.

John gets out of his chair and crouches before me. I like that. He's looking at me very closely. What's he doing? Trying to catch a glimpse of the card's reflection in my glass? _My eye_s? He's sliding closer. There's... He's touching my knee. _Touch him back_. No, his hand is gone. He shrugs loosely. "I don't mind."

_He doesn't mind touching me_._ Touch him more_.

"Am I a woman?" he asks. I snort and giggle. John's a woman. "What?"

"Yes," I answer quickly, with a smile. John as a woman. He'd be Joan. Joan Watson. I try to pull myself up and closer, still giggling.

"Am I pretty?"

I stop. _Yes. You're very pretty, John._

"This." He points to his card. He felt the need to... what's the word? Explain. Something like that. Why did he have to make sure I knew he wasn't talking about himself? _John. So very pretty. Stay mine, John. _Damn subconscious. Can't let it out. Think logically.

"Uh. Beauty is a construct based entirely on childhood impressions, influences, and role models."

_You're gorgeous. _

"Yeah, but am I a pretty lady?" John pushes. _Oh God, yes. You're a pretty man._ He bites his lip. Not helping my brain try to think. Where's my mind when I need it? _Thinking about kissing John senseless and taking him on the floor._

Lie. Quickly. What's a lie?

"I don't know who you are. I don't know who you're supposed to be." Because I know John. John is good. _Pretty_. He's brave. _Smells nice_. He's cleverer than I am lots of the time. _Probably tastes fantastic. Electric. Like licking a battery._

"You picked the name!" He's clever. So clever. Lie...

"I picked it at random from the papers." When was Madonna last in the papers? Why do I know who Madonna is? _Like a Virgin..._ No. No. Stop thinking of John.

"You're not really gettin' the hang of this game, are you Sherlock?" John falls backwards. He looks so comfy. _He'd make a nice pillow_. Not that kind of comfy.

"So I am human..." People... "Not as tall as people think I am." Short people... "I'm—I'm niceish. Clever." Sounds like John. John is _real_ nice. So clever. "Important to some people." Like John is to me. "But I tend to rubemupthawrungway." Slurring... I giggle. John giggles. It's nice, talking about rubbing up people _like John_. John's nice and short and clever _and_ _want him to rub me up_...

"Got it!" I smile. "I'm you, am I?"

_Knock knock_. "Yoohoo!"

What? My subconscious knocks now? Maybe I shouldn't drink any more.

"Client!" It's not my subconscious, it's Mrs. Hudson! She's... interrupting my John time. With this lady. This lady who showed up out of nowhere and is trying to steal _my_ John away from me when all I want to do _is give him my heart_.

"Hullo."

"Hullo," I mimic. Smile. Must fake a smile _for John_.

"Come on." John wants her in here. He's letting her take him away from me. He doesn't realize what he's doing to me.

"Which one of you is Sherlock Holmes?" she asks meekly. Really! She comes here and she doesn't even know who I am! I know who I am!

John's finger comes very close to my face. To my forehead.

Ah.

Apparently I don't know who I am as well as John knows who I am. That thought makes me smiley and tingly. Though it might just be that my BAC is through the roof and I have to urinate.

But neither of those things explain why my heart aches so much every time I look at John.


End file.
